


how the parties get to "yes"

by glassbones



Series: road that leads you home [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Is A Coffee Addict - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Founding Daddy - Freeform, Gen, Lafayette is a tiny bagel-loving birb, M/M, Marquis de Lafayette Protection Squad - Freeform, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Tall Dark Handsome GW, a. ham being a dysfunctional "adult", bros being dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5139587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbones/pseuds/glassbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a washette ceo au</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diogenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Washington" cocktail: 1/2 proportions syrup : 1 bitters: 6 brandy : 12 dry vermouth

George Washington's socials have been talked about, at one point or another, by every single person in the thick of it. Tales are told about the booze, which flows freely, about the legendary Washington cocktails and, most importantly, the deals made at the _Diogenes Club_ , where the socials are held bimonthly.

There is talk of Alexander Hamilton, Washington's right hand man (as he calls Hamilton), and his mysterious penchant for persuasion. They say Hamilton gets exactly what his superior wants even before _he_ knows he wants it. Rumor has it, a deal with him is a deal with the devil. Rumor has it, there is a private room at the back of _Diogenes_ , and those to be led in by Hamilton come back having signed contracts that mean either bankrupcy by Monday or wealth to _die_ for, drunker than before and slightly unsettled. Rumour has it, it always turns out to be the latter. There are a lot of tales going around, and somehow those to have been in the room where the magic happens are rarely the ones to spread them.  
  
George Washington's socials are a thing of legend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glassbones: 00:00:31 i'm doing lafayette next  
> jnathanstrange: 00:00:32 omg my god  
> glassbones: 00:00:32 a hell choire in my head screaming LAFAYETTE basically  
> jnathanstrange: 00:00:33 i have to .sorry  
> glassbones: 00:00:44 give it up for everybody's favorite frenchman  
> jnathanstrange: 00:00:45 *waterdrops emoji* *aubergine emoji*


	2. Lafayette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lafayette" cocktail: ": 6 proportions whiskey, 1 dry vermouth, 1 red aperitif wine, 1 bitters. served strained through ice with a slice of orange

Alexander takes leave, citing personal issues. Truth is, Lafayette is back in town and there's _no_ way they're gonna break the long tradition of getting smashed the first day his Frenchness sets foot on American soil.

The airport is the same as always, people queuing in and out of the arrival zone.

Alexander busies himself with ordering a Starbucks latte with as many extra espresso shots as the tortured-looking barista can pour before having a breakdown in the staff room, accepting his order (triple veinti latte, five pumps mint syrup, poured in the special travel mug Alexander has had custom made back in the college days) just to mull about the pros and cons of lacing it with the vermouth he bought for the occasion. The inner conflict takes him most of the time between barista's irritated " _A. Ham_ " and " _Paris, France_ " lighting up on the info screen.

Lafayette, sharply dressed as always, has three suitcases and a duffel bag balanced in his hands, all of them carelessly dropped as soon as he notices Hamilton in order to wrap his freckled arms around the man's shoulders.

"Alexander, _mon ami_!" he exclaims, clapping his hands together once. Unlike Gilbert, Alexander is exactly the same as he always was: a black raincoat slung hastily across his shoulders, hair put back in a low ponytail, a coffee mug clutched in his hands.

"Monmartre to you too, French," comes the custom reply. " _Bienvenue_ ," he adds after having Lafayette glare at him for a solid half-minute. "You good?"

" _Oui_ ," they retrieve the baggage together, going straight to the exit. "My, ah --the flight was terrible, yes? The food is _horrifying_ and the, --the _piss_ they are passing off as madeira," Lafayette shudders. "Damned if I'll ever drink madeira again."

Lafayette flew first class.

They keep up the banter all the way to the taxi, swinging back into the old routine effortlessly. It's good to have him back.


	3. Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hamilton" cocktail: 4 proportions white rum to 1 cherry liquor, 1 bitters and 6 pineapple juice

"'Sgood to see you, French," Alexander slurs. They're in his apartment, bars forgone in favor of getting shit-faced on his living room floor. The concoction they're drinking is an evil thing that tastes as if someone mixed all the fruity _Monin_ syrups together and added a splash of vodka. Hamilton states it's rum, orange, pistachio and cherry liquor, bitters, and pineapple juice. Somewhere between their last get-together and today he decided he can bartend. It's absolutely disgusting, Gilbert is drinking his third thing of the vodka syrup.

"You too, _cher_." Lafayette's head is in the other man's lap, the glass resting precariously near Alexander's knee. He smiles, pushing himself up and downing the rest of his drink at the same time. "I miss the old days," he sits, shirt askew, blush heating his cheeks in a way he knows is attractive. "Not the same, is it now?"

"'S not," Hamilton concurs.

Lafayette kisses him on both cheeks, too gentle for it to be meaningless and yet too brief for it to mean something else entirely, claps Alexander on the shoulder twice and stands, heading for the guest room. Hamilton, dumbfounded, has to sit and gather himself for a few minutes before retiring to his own room.  
It's not the same anymore, is it.


	4. Laurens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..and with this ends the "hamsquad as alcoholic beverages" theme  
>  quick update because it's my birthday tomorrow and i won't have the opportunity to post the chapter!! your voices have been heard and i'll try to write longer chaps from now on, but we've been working in a very limited timeframe here this week  
> thanks to all of you for kudo-ing, commenting and simply bearing with me!!!! the subscription stats blow my mind

Gilbert wakes sometime around noon, with too bright light filtering through the windows, and a vague recollection of the dream he had slipping away from him with every passing moment: being kissed into the pillows; a hand, rough and warm, between his own hands; a smile blinding in its vibrancy, shared in secret. Lafayette shouldn't have come here. He hugs himself against the loneliness. 

He shouldn't have come, perhaps, but Alex and— but Alex has been so insistent and isn't it nice to be finally able to see him again; he wanted to come back himself, didn't he. Gilbert has been so miserable in France, having left all his work, most of his friends— his whole life behind. It makes no sense he would be just as miserable _here_.

With that, he stands to fish a toothbrush out of his bags and goes about his morning. If, after having emerged from the bathroom, he is still somewhat red around the eyes, it can be written down to the jet lag. _Faire bonne contenance_. Gilbert smoothes his hair with his fingers, stoically wills the sappy thoughts away, and goes to find Alex.

* * *

In the kitchen, he is greeted by the sight of Alex, miserable, clutching a mug of coffee. A smaller mug is left out for Gilbert. 

"Morning," Hamilton croaks. 

"Milk, three sugars?" the other man moves the mug closer to himself. Alex frowns, then frowns at the apparent headache. 

"I love you so much," Lafayette exclaims around the coffee, holding it tightly in both hands. 

"No romo though." 

"No romo," he concurs. It's become a sort of inside joke of theirs. "So, any plans for today?" 

"Nil," Alex looks like he wanted to shake his head but thought better of it. 

" _Très bien_ ," Gilbert downs the rest of his coffee in one go, makes a face at the temperature (scalding) and tilts his head in the direction of Alex (sulking). "I'm going back to bed. Shout if you need me." 

"Ughhg."

* * *

The second time Lafayette emerges, Alex is suspiciously chipper. 

"Laurens called," he says in lieu of an explanation. "He'll be swinging by in an hour or so." 

"Nice," Gilbert has never understood the exact nature of their.. arrangement with Hamilton, but what's more important here is that it makes them both happy. Each to their own, he supposes. 

Alex busies himself with whatever open letter he's writing now, heaps of printed paper already littering nearly every horizontal surface of his house. After some consideration, Lafayette pours himself some coffee (honestly, the man's addiction is worrying) in a " _#1 Lawyer_ " mug, picks up the nearest heap, and settles down to read.

* * *

He surfaces an hour later with a new extensive knowledge on Columbia University's gender policy and an impending headache to a muted shouting coming from the hallway.

"How many hours of _sleep_ , Alex?"

"This is unbelievable. In my own house--" Alex turns to see Lafayette. "In my own _house_ Gilbert! Interrogations. Public," he gestures at the man, "humiliation. This is an outrage."

Laurens, the man behind the whole noise, smiles at Gilbert and utters a quick hello before switching back into death mode, and it's frankly terrifying how fast he can go from fine and dandy to what Lafayette can only describe as the spirit of divine retribution. One of the (many) reasons Lafayette has taken great pains to remain on John Laurens' good side.

The shrieking mostly subsides after Alex admits to having barely slept the night before — of all things they could've argued about, — and then, when _that_ doesn't shut John up, pulls him in for a quick kiss. They don't quite have the decency to be ashamed of the display, but Laurens won't meet Lafayette's eyes for the next ten minutes or so.

"..Anyways," Alex chirps, clasping his hands together. "You remember my friend Laurens."

Laurens snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> faire bonne contenance (fr.) -- stiff upper lip


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for alex, maria, and marius, who've been having a rough patch, and for everyone who's been down lately. i hope you're all safe

Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all

               forgiven,

even though we didn’t deserve it.

Richard Siken,  _Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out_  


  
Alex is unbelievably lucky for having Laurens in his life. No, he's been _blessed_ by whatever deity (or deities) there is, because no luck can amount to this: John's surprised smile as Alex kisses him, a quick peck on the lips as he's passing John by because he can and because it feels right; the knowledge that he's wanted and loved and cherished in a quiet way only John seems to be capable of; utter joy at the sight of him and in his arms and Alex is _allowed all of this any time he wants it_.

It's breathtaking. It's concerning. It's startlingly easy to get used to.

The odds, statistically speaking, the probability of this (Alex won't say 'love' and John won't press to hear it, but it is, but they are in) is infinitely low. Alex is not a man to be dated and John is not a person of the sorts that are usually content to be subjected to him and his demons, so their kisses are a little gentler, so Alex tries to pour all his gratitude through every touch. _Thanks for being here_ , _thanks for putting up with me_ , it's more than either of them is comfortable saying out loud so they dance around it, hiding their love in the smaller things. Alex takes out the trash. John remembers how the other man takes his coffee. They don't say anything at all because the carriage would turn back into a pumpkin or John would finally realize what he's turning his life into here, Alex doesn't know. They don't say anything at all, but Alex takes his time to be gentle in the bedroom, and the way John clings to him after is just as good as any grand proclamation; there is a whole declaration of love written in how Alex skims his fingertips against John's sides, feather-light. _Please stay with me_ , _please don't ever go away_.

"Hey," Alex says in the morning, and John stretches and buries his face in the crooks of Alex's neck instead of replying; there is a whole different kind of happiness in the repetition, in how many times have they done this, John kissing Alex's grin away like he has all the time in the world to do it. It can't be all lazy mornings and waffles and sunlight through the kitchen window, golden in the way it can only be on a Saturday, and Alex kicking his feet under the table - it can't always be like this but they're both content with being temporarily happy. Alex kisses John's hand because it's the closest to him. John hides his smile. There's a lot both of them would give away for having these moments, and there's a lot unsaid behind the silence in Alex's kitchen, fondness and sentiment most of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know my constantly upping the chapters count is annoying and that i should stop, but bits like this keep getting in the way of the plot. sorry. also, sorry for bringing siken into this, his shitty gay angst keeps haunting me wherever i go. so there's that


	6. Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to stella, who supplies me with Sin, and brian wiles, to whom i owe my happiness

The procession goes like this:

  1. Hamilton, holding a sheaf of papers, his laptop, and a Starbucks cup;
  2. Lafayette, holding a messenger bag;
  3. Laurens, holding nothing.



It’s early morning; the three of them have just enough time to get to the office, prepare for today’s meeting, and maybe grab some bagels if they're lucky.

Lafayette can do it. Lafayette can _do_ it, he’s been wanting to for the past three years.

They walk from Alex’s apartment by foot. It’s not exactly a stone’s throw, but Lafayette knows getting a taxi would be a stretch on their funds. From the three of them, he’s the one with the most money, but there’s only so much he can pay for without Alex taking offence.

He keeps up this train of thought for much of their walk, absently thinking about groceries they’ll have to buy, bills they’ll have to split, and the rest of stuff that inevitably comes with sharing a flat. It’s unusually chilly for the end of April, cold enough for Laurens to be bundled in a huge, Lenny Kravitz-esque scarf.

Gilbert himself is only slightly cold, wrapped in his camel coat, his mitten-clad fingers slowly freezing even as he rubs them together and breathes against his cupped palms.

He should invest in warmer gloves, Gilbert thinks.

All of it, the mundane details of his everyday life, is nothing more than an attempt at ignoring the other, more pressing thoughts, that he should probably addressing as he thinks this.

He’s meeting Washington today for the first time in _years_ , will have to muster through a whole day of negotiations led by the man he’s so hopelessly infatuated with (the very man whom Gilbert has been ignoring thinking about for the whole three days he’s back on American soil).

It doesn’t bear considering.

Gilbert physically shakes himself, puts his hands in his pockets, and resolutedly keeps his eyes on the pavement ahead, all thought of Washington temporarily banished.

* * *

He doesn’t allow himself to think even if for a second when he first sets his eyes on him ( _him-him-him,_ his traitor mind chants), and the whole world seems to almost imperceptibly gain in color and light. Washington stands near the entry to his office building, conveniently alone, and smokes. Gilbert can almost taste the smoke of Washington’s pipe from where he stands, paused, unsure of how to proceed. George's hands are gloved; his face mostly impassive except for the eyes, which crinkle in warmth.

He blinks quickly, collects himself and goes straight to George, inescapably pulled in the man’s orbit.

"Msr de Lafayette!“ he greets Gilbert, who kisses Washington on both cheeks, a _faire la bise,_ (Gilbert has never been more appreciative of his country's customs than in this moment) before he reasserts himself, or launches at George properly, or runs away screaming: Gilbert isn’t sure even as he makes sure his face betrays nothing but a slight flush which could be easily misintrepreted.

"Mr Washington,“ looking like him, to Gilbert, is a lot like looking at the sun. Suddenly, all his fears and anticipations that have accumulated over these past three years are gone; he dares to look back into Washington’s eyes as they walk to the office building.

"Uh, hello,“ Alex pipes in from behind, Laurens at his toes. "Good morning, sir.“ Gilbert naturally forgot they came with, forgot everything and everyone except George in this stretched-out, surreal moment. They walk down the hallway Gilbert doesn’t remember. The PA is unfamiliar to him but his coffee order is still there when he takes a look around, trying to analyze the situation he’s currently in.

They talk for a while about nothing in particular, Gilbert strainedly polite, Alex almost shy and Washington passively neutral, before having to begin their preparations for the day. Gilbert remembers none of it, only the movement of George’s hands as he took his gloves off and the smooth movement with which he ran a hand through his hair. It’s like nothing has changed, when, in actuality, everything had.

Three years, it’s been _three years_ , and yet here in this room Lafayette couldn’t remember the number if his life depended on it, too caught up in the minutae.

It stings.

He inwardly shakes himself, takes his coffee, and gets to business.

* * *

 

Gilbert watches Washington shake hands with Jefferson from where he's standing. Alex quickly types something on his phone, then shows Gilbert.

s _top staring at his hands omfg_

_I'm not,_

he replies before absently passing the phone back.

_you are and its weird stop before tjeff notices_

_Stop insinuating._

The meeting begins. Gilbert manages to kick Alex's foot so it looks like he hurt himself with his own chair's leg, and they don't speak about anything apart from business for the next few hours.

* * *

 "I have to go check on Laurens," Alex explains before leaving immediately after the break. Gilbert doesn't ask, but he's certain they'll be doing something gross in a utility closet somewhere for the next half an hour. Alex is... well, Gilbert isn't sure he'd act differently in his place.

Anyway, Hamilton has deserted the battlefield. This leaves him in a room alone with Washington (and Jefferson, and Madison, _and_ half a dozen other people) and a coffee break arrangement. Lafayette tries not to steal a glance at Washington as he gets himself some tea and examines the bagels. He startles when the man actually comes up to him.

"The cinnamon raisin is quite good," he says, pouring a coffee.

Gilbert, speechless, takes cinnamon raisin and, after some consideration, maple walnut. This is not how he imagine their first actual conversation would go. He feels like screaming a bit.

"The assortment changed," he says instead. "There used to be blueberry."

"You're the only one who liked blueberry," Washington replies, like this is a normal conversation two coworkers would have after not seeing each other for three years.

An "oh" is all Gilbert can muster.

They stand still for a while, Gilbert busying himself with pouring coffee in a Styrofoam cup for Alex, who will probably forget to grab some and definitely needs all the caffeine he can get.

"It's nice to be back," he admits at the same at the same time as Washington says, "It's good to have you back with us." They stare at each other for a brief moment before Lafayette has to look away, blush coloring his cheeks.

"I.. Thank you," he can't see if Washington has the decency to look at least slightly embrassed, or if his expression is as controlled as ever. In the background, Jefferson is telling a story that makes the whole room laugh.

"Son, say we meet for dinner?" Gilbert inwardly frowns at the bloody 'son', but most of him is soaring with joy. "There's a lot to discuss."

"Three years, yes," he has to remind himself that Washington must mean business, that he always does; this doesn't mean a thing probably. His heart doesn't hear him. "We'll meet after the meeting? Excuse me, I'll be right back."

He runs away and doesn't turn to see Washington's reaction for fear of doing something stupid otherwise. His stupid heart sings, and his bones feel hollow like a bird's, nervous anticipation building somewhere in his stomach. Gilbert absolutely forgot the effect Washington has on him, but thats what three years away do to you.

He locks himself in a thankfully empty men's room, looks in the mirror, and laughs a bit before turning the tap on to wash some of his infatuation off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIMELINE: this chapter happens on 29.04.2015, with lafayette having returned to america on the historical twenty seventh. i'm kind of going with the canon facts regarding the timelines, more to be said about that next time  
> 


	7. "I am now fixed to your fate"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from one of lafayette's first letters to washington

"Here are your keys," Alexander shoves them at Gilbert, "your laptop and its charger are in your bag, text me when you're there. And do not," he points a finger at Gilbert, "do _not_ call me unless you want to be traumatized for life. Laurens is coming over."

"Ew," Gilbert manages. Their relationship with Laurens can be really.. baffling, at times.

They are standing in the doorway, Gilbert’s coat in his arms.

"Are you alright though?" Hamilton looks him up and down, calculating. "Undo your top button."

"Alex!"

"What? You spent half an hour or so choosing your most flattering outfit, did you think I wouldn't notice. Go on." He complies, if only out of respect for Hamilton’s experience.

"It’s just a work dinner.. thing." To which he is going to be late, unless Gilbert hurries.

"It’s a date, stop kidding yourself. He asked you out under the pretense of discussing your job."

"Is not!" Not that Gilbert doesn’t want it to be, but reading too much into these things isn’t something he can afford. His feelings _cannot_ compromise their working relationship, no matter how mushy they've been as of lately.

"Is so. George Washington is totally hot for you. Now, off you go."

"You’re making _fun_ of me," Gilbert calls out even as he starts walking. The door slams shut.

* * *

The restaurant of Washington’s choice (his second choice, actually, because while Lafayette knows perfectly well who will be paying the bill, and doesn’t exactly mind that, he’s not quite covetous enough to dine in a Michelin starred restaurant, thank you very kindly) is a slightly pompous, if altogether pleasant, establishment. The _maître d'hôtel_ shows him to their table.

What this was supposed to be, Gilbert thinks, studiously avoiding Washington’s eyes as he raises his head to greet Gilbert, was a meaningless, long-time-no-see kind of thing, two colleagues catching up on their time off. What this is instead is Gilbert, all dolled-up, being treated by his superior to a dinner in an expensive restaurant, on a Thursday no less.

It’s getting harder and harder to keep himself from pretending.

Gilbert manages to subdue the dangerous direction his thoughts have taken just in time to respond to Washington’s ‘ _bonsoir_ ’, taking a seat opposite him.

He doesn't injure himself with the chair, which is a success. He doesn't blush, or stare at Washington more than strictly appropriate.

There is a congratulatory bottle of champagne and a tub of ice cream in the foreseeable future.

What Lafayette does, instead, is behave like a perfect coworker, let Washington order for him, and chatter more or less mindlessly about his current assignment, the weather, Alex's hospitality, and whatnot, all seemingly to Washington's amusement.

The man himself looks as infuriatingly good as always, a dove gray suit that should seem too formal cut to precision, the width of his shoulders as impressive as Gilbert remembers it being (and the very fact that he remembers that speaks for itself).

They end up talking about work, then shift to more personal topics. The flow of their conversation is as natural as it's always been. Washington asks about Adrienne and her child; Gilbert oh so carefully inquires about Martha; it doesn't make their silences awkward. It doesn't make the tension any less palpable. Washington is surprisingly okay with that.  
Inevitably, they return to what has been on Gilbert's mind the entire time.

"Three years, huh," Washington says, carefully not looking at Lafayette.

"I had to stay," Gilbert doesn't know why he feels the need to apologize but it's there nonetheless, heavy in his chest. "First the recovery, then the baby. I couldn't exactly _leave_ them."

He explains, words rushed and hastily chosen: his recovery, Adrienne's pregnancy, her parents' anger. How she wanted to keep the child and how difficult her pregnancy was. Henriette, tiny and pink, and the clarity with which Gilbert realized he couldn't leave them right then. Henriette's ill health and her mother's depression, the futile attempts at coercing Msr. de Noailles to allow Gilbert to take them to America. How difficult it was to leave them behind.

Washington doesn't interrupt, never taking his eyes off Gilbert as he speaks. At some point his hand finds Gilbert's shaking ones.

It takes Gilbert two glasses of wine and a great amount of nerve to finish his story. Washington changes the subject shortly after but somehow, looking in the grayish blue of his eyes, Gilbert is certain he's met with earnest compassion.

* * *

A few hours and later, Gilbert gracefully humors Washington, who pays the bill, before less than gracefully making his exit. Gilbert doesn't really consider refusing the man's offer to drive him home, perfectly content to sit in Washington's car instead of taking the subway. Gilbert is just selfish enough not to mind being wined and dined ( _which is exactly what's happened here_ , the more optimistic part of him insists: _he held your hand while you told him your life story and then he got you drunk, it's a date, and his hands are really large_ ).

The hands in question, surprisingly gloveless, are currently resting on Washington's thighs, the flicker of the streetlights casting strange shadows on his skin.

After some consideration, Gilbert very carefully moves his own left hand to rest atop Washington's right. He isn't sure whether it's the alcohol or his desperation (and Gilbert is desperate in more ways than one, there's no denying it), he isn't sure whether he should be doing this at all, but he still meets Washington's heavy gaze without second thought.

They sit like that, transfixed, for a long moment between Washington looks away and signals the driver there's been a change of plans.

Gilbert's hand stays on his thigh, an unspoken promise, as Washington laces their other hands together, thumb absent-mindedly rubbing at Gilbert's knuckles.

Gilbert quickly shift his attention to the car window and waits.

* * *

Their first kiss is almost chaste, the soft press of Washington's lips against his making something unfurl in Gilbert's chest. It's quiet in Washington's apartment, and Gilbert fancies he can hear the rush of blood in his veins as they kiss. Washington's left hand is on the small of Gilbert's back as he rises his other hand to cup his face, confident in this as in everything else.

Gilbert has to laugh at himself for a brief moment, to press his face against the other man's chest – Washington is a little taller than him, and his shoulders are broader.

"I've been wanting to do that," he confesses before Washington could take offence, "for a very long time." His accent is thicker than usual. Gilbert can't bring himself to care. He doesn't close his eyes the next time they kiss and fists both his hands in Washington's shirt. It's a little difficult to manage smiling at the same time, but they figure it out, and for some time there is nothing in Gilbert's world except for the man he has fallen in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for inconsistencies in plot and narrative style. making it up as we go here


	8. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello... it's me... i've been wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet....  
> SORRY FOR ABANDONING THIS FIC FOR SO LONG !!!!!! but i guess late is better than never

The sunlight is sharp in George's eyes. It's morning. He's surprised to not know the exact time; his inner clock rarely fails him. There is a million things he should be doing right now, e-mails and missed calls and deadlines that are yet to be met, but for now George is content to simply lay there, eyes open, seeping in the warmth of the person beside him. The rest of the world can wait.

* * *

 

Gilbert shifts beside him, slowly coming to. There's always a few half-conscious moments in the beginning of the day, before he blinks the sleep away, before awareness and responsibilities and guilt set in. He likes them the most. Some days it's the one thing he looks forward to at the end of the day.

This time, it takes him a little longer to orient himself, between the unfamiliar bed and the man next to him.

He waits, careful to hold his breath, but the anxiety doesn't come. Then he smiles.

'Morning,' he breathes out. The smell of the fabric softener is unfamiliar, the sheets softer. George's is a pleasing weight, a broad arm draped across him, chest pressed to Gilbert's back.

'You too,' George replies after a beat. His voice is a little rough from sleep. He smiles when Gilbert turns to look at him, all warm and boneless, haven't-gotten-up-yet kind of peaceful. Gilbert gives him a kiss. 'You slept well?' 'Yes.'

* * *

 

It's wonderful and strange to see him here in George's bed, warm and smiling, and the picture strikes George as being so perfectly right he has to take a breath. Like this is the exact thing George's bed was manufactured for, for Gilbert to lay in it and smile and put his head on George's shoulder.

He knows they will have to start their day soon, to get ready and make breakfast and reply to e-mails and go to work, but right now there's still a couple of moments left to just lay there and kiss. The sunlight is bright pink and yellow behind George's closed eyelids, his hands in Gilbert's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhh i know the pov shifts are annoying and it's too short and i could probably have done a better job, but it's really late and this chapter has been kicking my ass since january, so frankly i'm just happy to be done with it. so there
> 
> as always, please kudo/comment/yell at me, i'm always happy to see feedback


	9. You intrude upon my sleep- I meet you in every dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from hamilton's letter to eliza from the same year lafayette returned to american for the second time (i know right)

_yo marquis whats up_

Gilbert actually sighs out loud at his phone, legs absently swinging from the counter stool on which he sits.

_I don't know, Alex, the ceiling?_

He absently watches George potter about making breakfast, appreciationg how his stretched-out pyjama t-shirt (George Washington sleeps in a Hard Rock Cafe shirt, _shocking_ , right) strains against his shoulders. Sweet heavens, those _shoulders_.

 _ohmygod i literally cant believe you right now._  
_jfc_  
_really though whats up_

_All good._

_dude give me some deets_

Gilbert discreetly snaps a picture of George's back. He's making toast.

 _DUDEEEEEE_  
_I'M SHOOK_

 _Stop yelling at me._  
_dude congrats_

_are you more of a spring wedding couple or an autumn wedding couple_

Gilbert puts down his phone. Honestly. (To be fair, it's probably the former.) Suddenly, he's distracted by the smell of coffee invading his senses in a most welcome way.

"Oh, you didn't have to," George brings him a plate and a steaming cup, a creamer, and a butter pot. "Thank you so much." The older man actually blushes at that, averting his eyes. How adorable.

"..Are those _blueberries_?" There is a small stack of pancakes on his plate. He cuts into one, and they actually are: he made him blueberry pancakes. It's silly, but Gilbert is nonetheless elated. "You remembered!" He gives George a thank-you peck on the lips.

"It's nothing," he replies, but the the dimples in his cheeks prove him otherwise.

"You wonderful man you," Gilbert takes a sip of his coffee before abandoning it in favor of kissing George again. "Thank you," he grins into the kiss, arms twining round George's neck.

"Eat your breakfast," George sternly says, before ruining the whole effect by softly kissing him once more. "Wouldn't want it getting cold."

Gilbert dutifully obeys. It's delicious.

* * *

They eat in amiable silence, and Gilbert helps to do the washing up. It's still pretty early in the morning; they both are early risers, and, fortunately, it means they still have a bit of time before work. He doesn't suggest having sex again, because as lovely as it sounds, George is a 48 year old man, and there's a bit of a tight timeframe. It can wait.

Meanwhile, George comes up behind him while Gilbert is towelling his hands off and puts his head on Gilbert's shoulder.

"Hi," he tries to suppress the shudder when the older man's hands circle his waist, pressing close.

"Hi." Gilbert arches and turns his head a little until he can messily kiss George on the mouth, relishing in the strength of those powerful arms wrapped around him tight. He feels fragile and cherished in George's arms, and that's a feeling no one quite elicited from him before. Gilbert turns around, growing impatient, fists one hand in George's shirt and brings the other to the nape of his neck, firm and insistent. George does that thing with his tongue in response, forcing Gilbert to sigh into the kiss; roams his freakishly large hands across the softness of Gilbert's back, tangles them in his hair, tilts his head slightly to deepen the kiss.

They resurface for air eventually: Gilbert flushed, his dick rather interested in the proceedings; George outwardly calm, save for the twinkle in his eyes and slightly kiss-swollen lips. Gilbert laughs with the sheer joy of it. George smiles. They still have a bit of time before work, and they're sure as hell are going to put it to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooo i was re-reading my inbox, and there's such a wild amount of comments on htpgty that i decided to actually write something new maybe  
> you probably noticed the ominous "?" in the chapter count; i have no idea just how hard will this semester kick my ass (five days in and i already have two dissertations to write, huzzah), but there's definitely a couple more directions i would like for this story to take before abandoning it, and hopefully i will have both the time and resources to allow it


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